


Mary Sue's Last Dance

by haldolhs



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Crack Horror, Fluff and Smut, M/M, SebaCiel - Freeform, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haldolhs/pseuds/haldolhs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Mary Sue Blackwood Doyle seeks to alleviate the misery of her pitiful existence by weaseling into the service of Her Majesty’s Watchdog, but perhaps spying on Lord Phantomhive whilst he’s engaged with his manservant isn’t the best course of action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Sit up straight, Mary Sue,” Harold’s nasally voice rises above clomping horse hooves and the growl of carriage wheels against broken cobblestone. “Slouching will not sever unseemly inches from your height. It merely makes you appear slovenly.”

I slump deeper against the threadbare velvet of my bench, let my knees fall open beneath my gown’s ridiculously heavy skirt, and bequeath my husband a baleful glare. “Your jowls are swaying, Darling. I do hope you didn’t say anything incredibly important, for I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.”

Harold’s portly face reddens and his flappy, liver-hued lips quiver as his beefy hands clench into fists at his sides. “I was forced to sell a parcel of land to pay for the hundred yards of silk and lace required to fashion a respectable gown large enough to cover your gargantuan hide—the very gown you are destroying with your hideous posture. Now, sit up straight and smooth out those damnable wrinkles or I will make the proper corrections for you.”

Always quick to temper, Harry is already in top form and this endless, godforsaken night hasn’t yet begun. I see his knuckles whiten and decide I already stand out among the social elite quite sufficiently. There’s no need to further distinguish myself with a swollen cheek or a purpling eye. Straightening my spine, I square my shoulders and run my damp palms over my gown’s silk bodice. “You might remind yourself I am one of your few remaining assets, _Lord_ Doyle, and count yourself fortunate I married well below my station. If it weren’t for my lineage, your invitation to this dread fiasco would have been quite unforthcoming.”

His lips spread into a wide, yellow-toothed grin as he laughs at me, and I wonder for the millionth time how I’ve come to be chained to this homely, balding beast of a man twenty years my senior—this lowly, no-nothing lord of shrinking properties and failing industry who wears his forty-two years as if they’re sixty, who has more hair on his flabby, pasty belly and sagging buttocks than he does on his head, who has to first coax his miniscule prick out of hiding like a turtle from its oversized shell before he mounts me.

Captain of the Royal Secret Guard, my father is a powerful Marquis, his long line superior to even the Midford Royal Knights in its distinguished service to the crown—although the Midford’s are, of course, much, much more well-known. They’re allowed to unsheathe their swords in public, after all, whereas my family must be ever-present, but unseen.

The Midfords. How I loathe them. So pretty and perfect and celebrated, and I, who would have wielded great power and married the same had my traitorous body not stretched to a sorely noticeable six feet of height, am naught but a pitiable laughingstock.

Surely, I am destined for much more than this utterly futile and humiliating existence.

“Oh . . .oh . . .My _Dear . . ._ ” Harry chokes off his laughter, his eyes darkening with malicious mirth. “I _did_ drop to my knees and thank my lucky stars the day your father came calling with his proposal and your overly generous dowry. I counted myself the most fortunate man in all of England, for, despite your intimidating height, you were quite fair of face and you possessed an enticing form. Indeed, I was perplexed why a Marquis of your father’s caliber would consider betrothing his pretty daughter to a _lowly_ lord when surely there were a dozen young, prosperous viscounts more than willing to contract for your affections. I was quite confused, right up until you turned those big, stormy grey eyes on me and I realized any semblance of warmth you might have once possessed had been devoured by your hatred for everything and everyone. Your father was desperate to rid his house of your poisonous presence.”

“You know nothing about my father, you pathetic, ugly little man.” Rage flares in my breast. In my mind’s eye I see my fingernails ripping red rivulets down his drooping, pallid cheeks.

“You’re right, My Dear,” Harold smirks. “His presence has been quite absent since our wedding. How long has it been now? Two years? I doubt he’d even recognize you anymore, what with your daily determination to temper your bitterness with endless sugary pastries.”

“Each day feels like a lifetime,” I spit with all the venom coursing through my veins, yet I hear a tremor in my voice, and I hate myself for allowing this awful boar of a man to hurt me with his insignificant taunts.

“Quite,” Harold nods with a sigh. He suddenly looks deflated. Exhausted. “I’m sorry, Mary Sue.”

My skin hackles. “Don’t you dare pity me.”

“I wouldn’t think of it. You pity yourself quite sufficiently, after all.” He smiles wryly. “I am sorry, though, that we’re such kindred souls, you and I. And I’m sorry I must subject you to all the pretense and posturing we’re about to endure at Duke Ellington’s manse tonight, but there’s no help for it. The contracts I aim to procure from these over-privileged arses should push Doyle Tapestries well into the black. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not have to continue renting coaches, and I think it would do us both good to fill the empty stables with some grand horses.”

Our coachman is an elderly fellow with a lame arm and little skill, evidenced by the bone-jarring ride thus far. The man has certainly hit every possible divot in the cobblestone, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he created dozens more. Also, the inside of the carriage smells faintly of stale vomit, and I don’t want to consider just _what_ has made the floor so tacky.

Although I hate to agree with Harold about anything, I nod.

“I _need_ you, Mary Sue.” Harold leans forward and grasps both of my hands gently, his piggy eyes imploring. “I need you to embody the prestige of your family name pretend to _like_ those pretentious little princesses. Can I count on you?”

“There’s no need to _fawn_ so, Harry,” Grimacing, I pull my hands out of his and wipe them on my ruffled skirt. “I’ll play nice. I’ll smile and curtsy and gush over their horrid gowns and seek their pompous favor and be the perfect socialite. Before the end of the night, every one of those shallow bitches will demand to replace their substandard draperies with Doyle excellence.”

“I’ll be satisfied if you can just manage to smile appropriately and stay your caustic tongue,” Harold sighs and leans back against his bench. “Less is more, Mary Sue. No need to be overly ambitious. Stand up straight. Nod and smile. Say as little as possible, least you grievously insult anyone. That’s all I ask.”

Bastard. “You have all the charisma of a slug, Harry. I suppose it’s only fitting, considering you so resemble one. These are wealthy, prestigious men you hope to solicit tonight, all who will step deftly clear of your slime trail, I assure you.” I smile sweetly and bat my eyelashes. “Not that it really matters, for it’s the _Lady_ of the house who concerns herself with the decorating, you see. If you weren’t such an imbecile, you might have embraced this simple concept long ago and made Doyle a household name. Fortunately for you, I was raised with these women. I know just how to play on their fragile egos and tender insecurities.”

Harold sits forward again, his expression much too serene, and I know from vast personal experience how closely he totters on the brink of violent rage. “Listen carefully, My Dear.” He snatches my hand out of my lap and crushes it in a meaty fist. “I’m going to explain tonight’s itinerary, and you will follow it to the letter. Do I have your full attention?”

The bones in my left hand grind together painfully. “Yes, Harold,” I nod.

“Brilliant.” He loosens his grip minutely, and leans further forward until his puffy face is a few scant inches from mine. The rancid scent of his sour breath assaults my nose. “When we arrive at Ellington Manor you will take my arm and I will escort you inside, where we will first express our most humble gratitude to the Duke for his invitation. Following our greeting, we will engage in one dance, during which you will smile, hold your head high, and allow me to lead. Afterwards, I will deliver you to the buffet, where you will find something to occupy your toxic mouth while I leave you to conduct my business. Should the other ladies avoid you like the plague you are, you will do your best to blend into the wall until the clock chimes eleven, at which time I will meet you in the grand foyer, and we will take our leave. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” I grimace despite myself, my left hand throbbing in time with my heart.

“Wonderful.” He releases my hand and leans back, his muddy eyes scrutinizing my hair and makeup with no small amount of disdain. “Smile.”

Silently naming three tasteless and quite fatal poisons I might easily procure, I imagine Harold writhing in pain as he defecates himself into a cold grave, and my face lights up quite genuinely.

“Abysmal, but it will have to do,” Harry straightens his wilted cravat. “We’ve arrived.”

Beyond the smudged glass of the carriage window, I see shimmering lights and the massive shadow of Ellington Manor looming against the setting sun.


	2. Chapter 2

Harold looks every inch the slack-jawed yokel, his lecherous eyes following every bodice which sweeps past as he fumbles our haphazard way across the ballroom floor. Twice now, we’ve brushed shoulders with other couples and their indignant gasps ring incessantly in my ears as I glare down upon Harry’s glistening, wrinkled brow.

“Eyes on me, please,” I hiss, wincing as Harold steps on my toes yet again. “Noblemen do not gawk at their contemporaries as they waltz. They pretend as if their partners are the only other person in the room. You’re an earl. Act like one.”

The music swells. Harry’s fingers dig into my waist and his eyes snap up to mine. The loathing I see within is palpable, as is the humiliation. My heart might dance at the sight of the latter, if only I could claim credit. That honor, however, belongs to Duke Ellington’s butler, Simmons, who regarded Harry with a wrinkle of his upturned nose and flatly denied Harold’s request to privately greet our host.

“Don’t try me, woman,” Harry growls through his unsightly clenched teeth. “I’m in no mood for your vitriol.”

“It’s amazing how vastly your dancing skill improves when you’re not gaping at every trussed-up bosom that glides past your wandering eye. I might yet escape with an unbroken toe or two.” I’m pushing my luck, I know. Harold in this heightened state is as volatile as a sudden summer storm; although he may merely blow through and leave the landscape unscathed, he may just as easily tear everything in his path asunder, starting with me.

In my growing misery, I find I really don’t care. A few bruises and another chipped tooth or two would be well worth the price of imminent departure. Packed with bodies, the ballroom is sweltering, the air such a thick mix of perfumes and perspiration as to be barely breathable. A heavy aura of pretension only intensifies the sense of suffocation. Worst of all, I feel their eyes following me, judging and pitying the monstrously large daughter of Marquis Blackwood who had so disdained such unsightly offspring he’d suffered her to marry a troll.

Harry’s right. I hate them all.

“No need to be jealous, My Dear,” Harold smirks. He pulls me off balance in an impromptu turn and forces me to cling to him as I grapple to steady myself. “I was merely attempting to locate our gracious host within this gaudy throng. Curse that damnable butler.”

The music ends abruptly, and the ensuing applause saves me from having to answer. Harold nudges an elbow to my ribs, and I clap my hands politely, plastering a plastic smile to my face as I stare stolidly at the coiffed, auburn curls bouncing on the head of the woman in front of me.

In a few moments I will have to endure the false pleasantries of these people, if, indeed, they deign themselves to speak with me. I’m not sure which eventuality turns my stomach more.

“Wake up,” Harold snaps, pulling my arm and draping it over his. “Do you remember the plan?”

“Buffet. Stuff my mouth. Blend into wall. Meet at eleven,” I mutter, my faux smile stretching my face. I nod to people who seem miraculously blind to my presence despite the wide berth they give us as Harold leads me to the buffet.

“Good girl,” Harold pats my hand and then pushes it off his arm as he stretches up to press an oily kiss to my cheek. “See you later.”

I watch the sea of richly dressed bodies open widely for Harold and then swallow him whole. It’s a beautiful sight, watching him simply disappear as if he never existed at all, and I turn toward the buffet table, my nausea quelled.

“Is that Mary Sue Blackwood?” I hear a female voice whisper just as I catch sight of a scrumptious looking pastry drizzled with chocolate. “Has she always been so . . .large?”

“It’s Doyle, now, if the gossip doesn’t fail me,” another female voice titters. “And no . . .I’m certain she’s doubled in size.”

“Doyle . . .you don’t mean _Harold_ Doyle, I hope. Such an _awful_ man. Didn’t his first wife throw herself into the Thames?”

“Indeed. Let’s hope this one doesn’t follow suit, least she flood all of London with the wake her tremendous splash.”

The pastry that called my name suddenly looks fetid as flyblown meat. Nausea waters my mouth once more, and I lunge away from the table, not bothering to seek out the pair of insipid women amusing themselves at my expense. Should I see their faces, things might not end well . . .for them.

Although he may well have discarded me like so much unsightly rubbish, I am still the daughter of Her Majesty’s personal assassin. Royal Secret Guard . . .dress it up any way you’d like, murder runs in my veins. Swift and hot, or cold and calculated, I’m well-schooled in all ways of delivering death.

My blood verily boils with the urge to deliver some now, and in mass quantities, no less. All it would take is a trip to the gardener’s shed and I’d have the necessary ingredients to turn every offering on the buffet table into certain agonizing demise.

Getting in and out unseen—therein lays the bane of my existence. As a woman, six feet of height draped in layers of sapphire silk and ruffled lace draws the eye of even the most unobservant. But perhaps, now, I might use my girth to my advantage. Back when I begged my father to consider the idea, he refused, deeming my frame too slender and my face too fair to believably pass for a man. Any such effeminate wisp of a man would just as readily draw the eye, he’d decreed, and that was the end of that. That was the end of everything. . . the end of my purpose and meaning. But now, with sixty more pounds broadening my once slight shoulders and widening my waist, with the proper haircut and a freshly scrubbed face I think I could pass for an ordinary man. So many are pudgy these days, after all.

The music begins again, and the crowd thins as I make my way toward the periphery, ignoring several stunned whispers of my name. I steady my gaze to the ballroom floor and pretend to admire the dancers while I plot my way into a wool suit and cravat. The Duke is only slightly larger than I am. Stealing into his rooms could be problematic, but gaining access to the second floor is the key, for only the stairwells will be guarded. I know these manors. I’ve studied them, I’ve stole through their secret passageways, spied through their hidden peepholes . . .if memory serves, this house has a stairwell enclosed behind a false wall in the library. I need only . . .

My heart gives a sudden hard thud in my throat, stealing my breath as a pair of eyes the color of warm cherry-wood lock with mine and hold. I can’t look away. I can’t see anything but those eyes, brightening to crimson as they burn into mine, as they burn straight through me.

_He knows. He sees everything,_ I think wildly, panic rising in my chest as my heart drops back into it and my lungs fill with air once more. The room tilts and sways, and when those eyes release me, I see the face they belong to—a man gazing over the head of his partner as they dance not a dozen feet away from me; a bespectacled man with silken hair black as onyx tied back from his fine-boned, pale face. The beauty of that face is wholly ethereal, so much so my fingers itch for the dagger I’ve long-since stopped strapping to my thigh, and when his full, blushing mouth curves up into a knowing smirk, my blood simultaneously heats and chills.

Again, the room tilts and sways, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the disorienting vertigo. I open them slowly, cautiously, and find the ballroom righted. The tall, lean man who’d so spun my head gracefully glides his petite, pretty partner few feet further away, the whole of his attention smiling warmly down upon her as if it had never wavered.

_It didn’t waver. A boar of a woman as hideous as you are could never hope to turn the head of so handsome a man. You simply imagined the whole episode, Mary Sue. Perhaps your mind was merely attempting to distract you from attempting your idiotic plan, thus saving you from further humiliation and probable arrest._

Perhaps, but I can’t drag my eyes from away from him. I drink in his every fluid motion, and my heart flutters like an inane schoolgirl’s as I watch him chuckle lightly at something said by the woman he holds so gently in his arms.

What I wouldn’t give to be that woman, if only for a moment.

Shoving such ridiculous fancies from my heart and mind, I attempt to tear my attention away when it suddenly strikes me that I _know_ this man. Or, more correctly, I’ve crossed paths with him before.

Instead of diverting my attention, I scrutinize him much more closely. I notice that while his attire is finely tailored from fabrics of the highest quality, he is dressed as a respectable gentleman rather than a nobleman of any standing. His partner is dressed similarly, her gown formal, but far less extravagant than one befitting a lady of stature. She, too, now strikes me as distantly familiar.

These are some nobleman’s prized servants I’m ogling. They’re someone’s highly regarded steward and governess, most like, accompanying a master who has traveled a great distance and allowed to attend the ball as a reward for their faithful service.

_Where have I seen this pair before?_

My mind rifles frantically through my memories, scanning and discarding dozens of prior social events until it lands on another packed ballroom just as lavish as the one in which I currently stand, decorated with streamers and hundreds of blue and silver balloons.

_Lady Blackwood. Would you be so kind as to honor me with a dance?_

A finely sculpted face shimmers in my mind’s eye. It doesn’t belong to the man I’m so desperate to name, but to a gangly teenaged boy with similarly pale skin and dark hair . . .he’s not a younger version of the man, for the boy wears a black patch over one eye and the other is blue.

Ciel Phantomhive . . .of course. Lizzie Midford’s cousin and betrothed. Marquis and Marchioness Midford had hosted a ball in honor of their nephew’s sixteenth birthday, and my father had insisted I attend despite my heated protests and heartfelt declarations of loathing for the Midford family, especially the bubbly, blond Elizabeth, who had a penchant for gushing incessantly and imparting volumes of unsolicited advice on how I might make my ‘adorably cute’ self even more so.

There’s nothing I despise more than false flattery.

My father had hoped my presence would catch the eye of the Midford’s son, Edward—a pompous, prissy man who was almost as pretty as his sister but nowhere near as skilled with a sword. Already well past his eighteenth birthday, the fact that Edward had not yet chosen a betrothed was not due to a lack of eager, suitable prospects. The rumor mill had begun to scandalously suggest Eddie Midford preferred the company of men. To that end, my father believed my towering height, boyish hips and small breasts might entice him.

The mere thought of being courted by Edward Midford so insulted and mortified me, I armed myself with a simple but efficient lethal dust disguised as facial powder carried within my clutch. Should Edward have shown undue interest, a sprinkle of the poison in his champagne would rectify the situation. Permanently.

I needn’t have worried. Edward greeted me with a brief, green-eyed glance and a quick brush of his lips against the back of my glove, and then proceeded to forget I existed. After an hour of keeping my wary eye on him, I relaxed, most confident Edward wouldn’t seek my favor—mine, or anyone else’s, save for his sister’s. Even a half-witted blind man could plainly see he was in love with her.

Elizabeth Midford. Dressed in silver and blue, she floated from guest to guest like one of those hundreds of balloons and just as full of hot air, dragging Ciel along like a thin string behind her. Thrice she accosted me where I stood pointedly minding my own business, thwarting my attempts to remain unnoticed each time her shrill voice squealed my name. Why wasn’t I dancing, she wanted to know. I simply _must_ snatch the arm of the nearest lord, for my russet gown was simply _exquisite._ It was quite selfish of me to hide such loveliness in the corner, she insisted—to the point I was quite tempted to use the powder concealed within my clutch, after all.

I remember I’d been contemplating the potential effects of my father’s wrath should I withdraw to our carriage and await him there, when The Earl of Phantomhive approached me, quite alone, and extended his hand.

“Lady Blackwood. Would you be so kind as to honor me with a dance?”

His fiancée had insisted he extend such an invitation, undoubtedly, yet I saw not the barest glimmer of resignation or the shadow of Elizabeth’s loathsome pity within his shrewd eye. Had I seen any of the sort I would have scathingly denied him. I _did_ sense a motive beyond mere politeness, however, and it piqued my curiosity. That, combined with my father’s oft voiced disdain for the Phantomhive family, compelled me to place my hand in his.

He led me to the ballroom floor and bowed gallantly before placing his hand gently upon my waist. I had braced myself for inevitable awkwardness, but he smiled up at me and somehow locked his one cerulean eye with both of mine while proceeding to move us quite gracefully amid the other couples.

“I must commend you, Lord Phantomhive,” I said. “Not many noblemen possess the presence of self to engage a dance partner half a head taller than he, much less the skill to lead her so fluidly.”

“Please, call me Ciel,” His smile softened, became more genuine, his eye sparkling. “If I were to impart closely-guarded secret, Lady Blackwood, might I trust in your unwavering confidence?”

“Mary Sue, please,” I returned his smile, much less interested in whatever superficial information he might disclose than I was in his reason behind this blatant attempt to forge a bond between us. “You may. I never disclose secrets. Once they’re known, they’re useless for the purposes of blackmail.”

“A most believable assurance, Mary Sue,” Chuckling, he glided me through a turn and then pulled me slightly closer. “My butler is my dance instructor, and I’m still a most stubborn work in progress, much to his chagrin. Your height very nearly matches his, and therefore I feel quite comfortable. Leading Elizabeth, on the other hand . . .I pity the hem of her poor, trampled gown.”

“Your butler?” I sniggered with genuine humor. “Surely your lack of a proper instructor is not an issue of frugality, for I’m of the understanding Funtom Corporation profits quite handsomely.”

“Indeed, utilizing Sebastian stems not from financial concerns, but those of personal humiliation, as I possess no natural talent in the least.” He glided us into another turn and tilted his head to the left. “Fortunately, Sebastian is a skilled, if impatient, teacher.”

Following his gaze, I saw the man I watch now, dressed very much the same as he is at present, dancing with the very same brown-haired woman.

_Sebastian. You’re Ciel Phantomhive’s butler._

Ciel . . .I never discovered his true motives for inviting me to dance, for no sooner had he pointed out his butler then my father had the audacity to cut in rudely, veritably ripping me from Lord Phantomhive’s arms.

_You are to have nothing to do with that . . .with Phantomhive, Mary Sue. Do you hear me? It is one thing to exist in the shadows, as we must, but quite another to reign over absolute darkness, as he does. You already possess a blackness of soul, a coldness of heart. Even so, you are_ MY _daughter, and I’ll be damned if I let that dog get close enough to catch a whiff of your evil and allow him to seduce you into his service._

What service, I wonder? Perhaps I might still discover whatever Ciel intended to propose on the evening of his birthday, despite my not having seen him in the six years since. Surely, Sebastian wouldn’t be present without his master, and it’s most unlikely he’s left Lord Phantomhive’s employ for another—Ciel is Her Majesty’s Watchdog, after all. Guardian of the underworld, and, according to my father, Emperor of Evil. As his butler, Sebastian is certainly privy to secrets much more substantial than his master’s lack of natural dancing ability.

Considering Sebastian still breathes, Ciel is most certainly here, concealed somewhere within this hot, undulating sea of jewel-toned silk and finely brushed wool.

I tear my eyes from Sebastian and glance over the couples in his general vicinity, searching for a black eye patch on the face of any man dancing with a golden-haired partner, for if Ciel is dancing, it’s most certainly with . . .

“Lady Mary Sue Blackwood Doyle! I can’t believe my delighted eyes! Is it really you?”

. . .Lizzie.


	3. Chapter 3

I turn in time to see a glittering pink streak approaching at speed before she throws herself against my defensive stance, grasps my upper arms tightly, and pulls herself up to press a dry kiss first to one cheek and then the other.

“Oh, Mary Sue, it’s been ages!” She gushes, stepping back to take me in, still clinging to my arms. “You look positively regal in royal blue! So stately! You were but a wisp the last I saw you! How long has it been since we’ve shared company?” She gasps, her big, emerald eyes widening. “Is it possible I haven’t seen you since Edward’s wedding?”

“Indeed,” I say coldly, not keen to remember my father’s last ditch attempt to parade me about like a fat hog at market in hopes of finding a buyer. Lizzie, with Ciel out of the country on business and unable to entertain her, had quite taken up my father’s quest and repeatedly thrust me upon some hapless Indian prince, who, so intimidated by my person, clung to the arm of his manservant like a little girl whenever Lizzie dragged me within ten feet of him. “You look lovely as always, Elizabeth. I trust your brother is well?”

“Quite. He and Eleanor are here, somewhere.” She waves one hand dismissively toward the ballroom floor and then returns it to my arm. “But enough about Eddie. Three years! Now that I think about it, I have to admit I was quite cross with you, Mary Sue.”

“Oh?” I square my shoulders and tense beneath her grasp, forcing myself to take in her sickening perfection. The years have been beyond kind to Elizabeth Midford, having turned a beautiful girl into a ravishing woman. Her peaches and cream complexion is flawless, the youthful fullness of her face now slimmed to soft sophistication. Her golden tresses are coiffed into a smooth fold upon the back of her head, exposing the whole of her slender and graceful neck, which glitters with diamonds. Her bosom has swelled plentifully but proportionately to her lithe frame. She radiates warmth and happiness despite her pout, which I itch to slap from her perfect face.

“Well, of course!” She huffs, releasing me at long last. The skin on my arms crawls beneath the silk of my ruffled sleeves, now quite crushed. “Grandfather Phantomhive nearly betrothed my mother to your father, if you recall. We were nearly sisters, you and I, and I’ve always felt we were so very close. So you can imagine how terribly sad I was to learn of your marriage after the fact! I had always planned to give you the most lavish engagement party. And then, when you failed to attend both my engagement ball and my wedding last spring, my heart was quite broken.”

It’s my turn to look like a slack-jawed yokel, for although I’d read of their nuptials in the society pages nearly a year and a half past, I’d received no invitations to said events.

“Oh, Darling! Please don’t distress yourself!” She grasps my face in her cool palms and my teeth meet with a sharp click. “Your father explained everything when I spoke with him at our reception, and I’ve long since forgiven you. I was so delighted to hear how perfectly Lord Doyle dotes on you, whisking you off to the Orient and the south of France! And, of course, you know how much I absolutely adore the exquisite tea set you sent us directly from China as a wedding gift. Your father did give you my thank-you letter, I hope?”

I nod dumbly as she releases my face, my head spinning with the realization that my father has not disowned me so much as written me out of reality. Since we’ve married, Harold has seen fit to only twice make the trip into London, much less the Orient or the south of France. It’s a wonder I received Duke Ellington’s invitation, considering my father has manipulated the reception of my personal correspondence.

“I was so sorry to hear of your father’s disappearance,” Elizabeth says solemnly. She grasps my hand and squeezes it gently. “I’m sure Her Majesty is keeping you apprised and extending her warmest comforts, but I want to reassure you Ciel is working diligently at her behest and holds every confidence he’ll be found alive.”

Apparently my father failed to instruct his butler to hold my mail in the event of his abduction. I bite back a smile and pat Lizzie’s hand. “Thank you for renewing my deepest hope,” I say, wishing with every fiber of my being that the bastard is suffering horribly as he breathes his last. “Where is Lord Phantomhive? I should like to personally extend my gratitude.”

Lizzie’s ridiculous scowl is belied by the instant sparkle in her eyes. “In the billiards room swindling hapless noblemen out of their pocket change, if I had to wager a guess,” She shakes her head in faux disdain. “I do so try to discourage him from such uncouth entertainments, but it’s impossible to present a convincing argument when he always wins.” She laughs lightly. “In any case, boys will be boys, as they say. You don’t suppose Lord Doyle is in Ciel’s company, I hope?”

“Harold doesn’t gamble,” I say, turning my attention back to the ballroom floor. I simply can’t look at her anymore, and now that I know where to start looking for her husband, I hope she’ll take my snub for what it is and go away.

Instead, her shoulder brushes my arm as she cozies up beside me. “We girls will simply have to keep each other company until our men return. Ciel has promised me another waltz before the night ends, and I simply must meet your wonderful Harold.”

“Well, I hope you have nothing planned for the rest of your life,” I mutter, my eyes drawn once more to Ciel’s butler. Again, I’m both captivated and unnerved by the man’s unearthly beauty. “Because that’s how long you’d have to search to find anything wonderful about Harold.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t quite hear you,” Lizzie says.

I ignore her, my gaze following Sebastian and his partner who seem to float lighter than air amid the other couples who’ve begun to sag beneath the length of the composition.

“Mary Sue? I said I didn’t quite hear what . . .oh!”

I glance down and see she’s followed my gaze to the waltzing servants.

“That’s my Paula dancing with Ciel’s Sebastian. Don’t they just make the most gorgeous couple?” Lizzie squeals, bouncing lightly on her heels. “It is my dearest wish for them to discover they fancy each other. It’s already halfway come true, for Paula is quite smitten, but in confidence she’s told me Sebastian remains immune to her feminine charms.”

“A pity,” I smirk, and think poor Paula, despite her pretty face and beguiling curves, pales beneath Sebastian’s magnificence. It would take a woman of Lizzie’s caliber to turn the head of such a creature, assuming, of course, he wasn’t already completely in love with himself.

“Indeed, but I refuse to lose heart,” Lizzie gushes. “Sebastian might well be as headstrong as his master, but Paula and I still have a few aces up our . . .Oh! There’s Lady Drummond making her way to the buffet! I do need to ask her a few questions about the orphan’s benefit next week. Will you excuse me for a moment, Mary Sue?”

“Of course,” I smile and inwardly sigh with relief. “Do take your time.”

Once more, she grasps my hand and squeezes. “Wait for me right here. Do not move a single step,” Lizzie demands. A startling and wholly uncharacteristic hardness flashes in her eyes. “Promise me you won’t run off, Mary Sue.”

“I’ve nowhere to go,” I say, determined to flee the moment she turns her back.

“I’ll only be but a moment,” Lizzie smiles, her eyes warm once more as she releases my hand and turns away. “And then we simply must find a quiet place to sit and catch up on everything!” She calls back over her shoulder.

Nodding, I wave. The moment she steps out of sight, I make my way through the spectators and edge closer to the ballroom floor, which I will have to cross if I’m to explore the hallways at the opposite end. One contains the billiards room and areas meant for entertaining. The other leads past several sitting parlors designed to provide quiet and respite for the ladies should they become overheated.

Unfortunately, I can’t remember if the games room is on the hallway to the left or to the right. The music swells to a crescendo and ends just as I decide to first explore the hallway on the right, forcing me to stay my step and join in with the applause.

Flushed and perspiring, the dancers swarm toward the buffet table. As I push against the masses, my eye is drawn to a dark head also moving against the flow of people, walking toward the hallway on the left.

_Sebastian. Will you, by chance, lead me to your master?_

Quickly changing course, I watch Sebastian disappear through the darkened archway. I follow a good twenty steps behind, fighting the urge to quicken my normal pace.

As soon as I pass through the archway I realize Sebastian has led me down the wrong corridor. The wall lamps are unlit and the hallway is dark and unwelcoming. I most certainly won’t find the billiards room here. Pausing in my step, I allow my eyes to adjust and decide Sebastian is more likely to lead me to a quiet toilet than to Lord Phantomhive.

Just as I turn back, I hear the snick of a door opening and feel a cool waft of air. I turn in time to see Sebastian step out through the French doors at the end of the hall and onto the terrace beyond. Moonlight streams through the glass and glows pale against the walls and the marble floor, now unhindered by the barrier of the butler’s tall form.

_Stepping out for a breath of fresh air, most likely,_ I think to myself, yet the man had moved with an intent quickness which spoke of important purpose rather than frivolous, casual concern. I’d assumed he’d been propelled by a full bladder, but I can’t imagine he intends to relieve himself outdoors.

Curious, I hurry to the end of the hall and then slink into the shadows to one side of the doors. Peering outside, I see Sebastian standing close beside another dark-haired man of similar height and build. Their backs are to me, their attention apparently focused on the dark gardens beyond the balustrade, but even without seeing his face I can tell by the man’s finery that Sebastian’s companion is a nobleman of considerable wealth.

A queer little thrill shivers through me, for I’m most certainly witnessing a very personal and clandestine moment between a pair of _men,_ the status of one so far beneath the other as to be deliciously scandalous. It’s little wonder Lizzie’s poor handmaiden hasn’t had any luck seducing Sebastian, for it’s quite evident Ciel’s gorgeous butler prefers men of wealth and status. He shares a familiarity so intimate with this mystery lord that their shoulders brush and their dark, glossy heads lean toward one another as they converse in low murmurs too quiet to hear from behind the closed door.

Just when I think the pair couldn’t look more sickeningly romantic, so close and cozy and bathed in moonlight as they are, Sebastian slips his arm around the nobleman’s lower back. His white-gloved hand splays over the man’s hip possessively as he whispers something into his paramour’s ear.

Flushing from tip to toes, I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a delighted gasp. Following Sebastian down this corridor had been a brilliant decision, indeed, for Lord Phantomhive will surely cater to my any request with eager generosity in exchange for my silence. Should the debauchery of his servant become public, it will most certainly ruin him.

_No one would believe Ciel if he claimed ignorance,_ I think, watching the pair on the terrace with rapt attention, eager to catch a glimpse of the nobleman’s face. The man’s posture stiffens as if he’s suddenly vexed by whatever sweet-nothings Sebastian whispers. He grasps the hand on his hip and flings it away, and then shoves back from the balustrade as he turns on his heel toward the door.

I gasp aloud and clap my hand over my breast to stay my racing heart as I see the mystery lord is no other than Ciel Phantomhive.

He is much changed from last I saw him, of course, for six years has wrought a strong, finely-formed man slightly taller than I from the shorter boy I knew. His face, once possessed of a sweet, somewhat effeminate loveliness, now displays an exquisite masculine beauty every inch as captivating as his butler’s, even despite his enraged expression and the ice glittering within his exposed eye.

Quite obviously incensed, Ciel seethes an audible curse at his butler, his fine mouth a curled sneer with which he orders his servant to engage in self-buggery.

Wondering if I need to reevaluate my initial interpretation of the scene, I watch Ciel shove past Sebastian and stride toward the door . . .toward _me._


	4. Chapter 4

Cursing under my breath, I press my back against the wall and shuffle away from the door, keeping as deep within the shadows as possible . . .shadows which lengthen and darken as Ciel’s form fills the doorway and blocks the moonlight.

Bolting down the hallway is not an option. If I hadn’t allowed myself to bloat to the size of a moose, I might simply flatten myself against the wall and hope to remain unnoticed as he charged passed. Now, however, it seems my only option is to step out into the corridor and stride purposely toward the door as if I were in pursuit of some quiet and fresh air.

I move to brace my hands against the wall and shove out into the middle of the corridor quickly, when the empty air behind my right gives me the alternative of an open doorway. Lungs aching with the weight of a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I scramble into the concealing darkness just as Ciel blows in from outside.

I don’t dare attempt to close the door, least I draw attention to myself, so I simply stand a few feet beyond the threshold and wait for him to pass. He won’t see me, and even if he does, I can simply say. . .

“Ciel. You’re being completely unreasonable.”

The moment he steps into view of my open doorway, Ciel whirls on his heel to confront the source of the rich, caramel-coated admonishment which shimmers over my spine like warm silk.

“You’re courting that silly woman in _public,_ Sebastian! People are speculating. Twice tonight I’ve been asked if I’ll approve _your_ upcoming nuptials. At this point, I have little choice but to host a damned wedding or dispense with Paula if I’m to avoid a scandal. You well know Lizzie won’t tolerate the latter, and yet you have the _audacity_ to accuse me of being unreasonable?”

“I do. You’re overreacting terribly, My Lord.” Sebastian chuckles as he glides into view. He steps up close to Ciel and straightens his cravat. “You were asked the very same question when I escorted Mei-Rin at your wedding, if you recall, and yet she remains in your service. Unless I’m mistaken, my failure to wed Mei-Rin has yet to sully the Phantomhive name.”

“Don’t make light of this!” Ciel seethes. He slaps Sebastian’s hand down from his throat, yet makes no move to reclaim his personal space. In fact, he draws even closer. “I’ve watched you tonight, Sebastian. I’ve seen you encourage that poor woman with your _warm_ attention. She’s apt to believe she stands a chance in Hell of winning your affections. It’s pathetic.”

“Let’s hope she believes just that,” Sebastian smirks. “And let’s hope your wife believes it, too.”

“No,” Ciel snaps. “I know Lizzie has her heart set on seeing the two of you wed, but I don’t care . . .”

“You’d best _care,_ My Very, Very _Young_ Master,” Sebastian interrupts, his silken voice lined with a sharp edge mirrored by his sudden white-gloved grasp of Ciel’s jaw. “I know I needn’t remind you of the contract you willingly entered with Lady Elizabeth, quite despite my counsel. Like it or not, you are now bound to deliver her the life she desires and cater to her happiness with any and all means at your disposal.”

Electricity radiates from the charged heat between master and servant, so palpable my skin flushes and tingles. My head spins as I try to make sense of their exchange, although I no longer question my first impression upon seeing them together on the terrace.

Ciel and his butler are most certainly lovers.

_I must determine how to best capitalize on this discovery. . ._

“By any and all means, except for you,” Ciel declares. He twists his jaw from Sebastian’s grip. “You’re _mine.”_

“Forever,” Sebastian agrees, softly. He caresses Ciel’s cheek with the back of one white-gloved finger. “I will always be yours. Therefore you needn’t allow yourself to be vexed by so insignificant a matter.”

“It’s not _insignificant_ ,” Ciel insists, leaning into Sebastian’s touch. “The thought of you acting her husband, sharing her bed, pretending to _love_ her . . .” He shivers. “And considering Lizzie merely desires to keep Paula indefinitely in her service, there’s no need for us to suffer such farce. I’ve spoken to her about this. I’ve promised to persuade onto our staff any man who catches Paula’s fancy. I know she’s not yet convinced, but she _did_ admit certain aspects of our life together which she _quite_ enjoys might suffer unduly if . . .”

“Ciel,” Sebastian croons. He cups his lord’s cheek gently and chuckles. “Are you so blinded by your own unnecessary jealousy that you can’t see _hers?_ ”

“We’ve given Lizzie no reason to feel . . .”

Sebastian shushes him with a press of a finger to Ciel’s lips. “Stop lying to yourself, My Lord. You know as well as I Our Lady seeks more than a husband for her trusted and loyal servant. She wants to even the playing field, so to speak.”

“I won’t allow it,” Ciel murmurs. He strokes a stray tendril of ebony hair back from Sebastian’s temple.

“I won’t allow you to violate your contract,” Sebastian counters. “We can consider ourselves quite lucky your impulsive act of defiance has yielded so agreeable an existence thus far. Things might have gone miserably different, Ciel . . .and they still may. We shouldn’t press our luck. Elizabeth has placed her wager and dared us to call her bluff. I fear for the fate of our exceedingly good fortune should we raise the ante and force her to show her hand.”

“I _can’t_ . . .” Ciel moans and pulls his servant closer with one arm. He pulls at the tie of Sebastian’s low ponytail with his free hand, freeing a silken cascade of his butler’s ebony hair. “You have no idea what it _does_ to me, Sebastian, the mere thought of . . .”

“Half a century at most, Lover,” Sebastian croons, resting his brow against Ciel’s as he circles his arms around his waist. One white-gloved hand caresses the swell of his master’s backside, barely concealed beneath his coattails. “It’s but the tick of the second hand against the clock-face of eternity. Had you waited, like I asked, had you given yourself just a modicum of time, you wouldn’t blink an eye at such trivialities. Your jealousy . . .”

“Arrogant Bastard,” Ciel growls. He tangles his fingers into Sebastian’s silky hair and yanks, pulling his butler’s head away from his even as he pulls the rest of his servant’s body flush against his own. “I’m not _jealous._ I’m . . .I’m . . .I _smell_ her Sebastian. All over you. You reek of innocence and mortality, and I’m . . .”

“Ravenous?” Sebastian smirks. “Loathe _I_ intend to sully such purity of soul when you’d rather damn it yourself?”

“Yes,” Ciel hisses. He pulls his butler’s head toward his, quite obviously with the intent to suck that incorrigible sneer from his enchanting face, but Sebastian resists with a widening smile.

“You’re lying,” Sebastian’s voice drips with mock disappointment. “It’s _Paula,_ Young Master. Vapid, envious, deceitful Paula, who steals the good silver and sneaks through the manor at night to listen at keyholes. Now . . .tell me the truth. For whom do you truly starve?”

The hair on the back of my neck prickles with the chill quivering over my skin, for their strange conversation unnerves me almost as much as the odd glow which suddenly radiates from Lord Phantomhive’s exposed eye. My heart pounds so hard against my ribcage I’m certain the pair standing not five feet away would hear it’s panicked rhythm if they weren’t so completely engrossed in each other.

“ _Shut up,”_ Ciel growls, and then succeeds in devouring his butler’s smirk with his hungry mouth. Sebastian yields against the sudden assault, devoting himself wholly to their kiss as it deepens, his embrace tightening possessively around his master. Ciel responds in kind, his aggression softening to passion.

My skin flushing, my limbs trembling, I watch them melt against each other as their kiss intensifies. Their bodies, as if oblivious to the layers of clothing between them, meld like halves of a whole, and the captivating sight of such charged, sensual beauty quite steals my breath.

Low moans thick with desire rumble from the pair, their bodies undulating rhythmically as if possessed of a shared pulse, their endless kiss ever-deepening.

My lungs burn for air, and I can’t help a small gasp as I watch Ciel shove a pale hand low into the tight crevice between them, causing Sebastian to break their kiss with a gasp of his own.

“Ciel . . .”

“So hard,” Ciel murmurs against Sebastian’s jawline, his hand, though unseen, quite obviously massaging the front of his butler’s trousers. “Tell me _who_ you need, Sebastian. Does your thick, throbbing cock ache for me, or shall I go fetch _Paula?”_

“I’m nary a second from shredding your britches and impaling your tight, hot ass right here, you impertinent cocktease,” Sebastian growls. He licks Ciel’s lower lip and then shoves back a step, grasping Ciel’s wrist and pulling his hand away from his tented trousers. “As much as I crave you, we can’t do this now, Lover. The walls have eyes and ears.”  

“Things with eyes and ears can be rendered blind and deaf,” Ciel smirks. He palms the bulge in Sebastian’s pants with his free hand and chuckles lowly. “It would be cruel to disallow such things to see and hear while they’re still able, wouldn’t you agree? I _want_ you, Sebastian. Here. _Now._ ”

“Must you insist on making my tasks excessively challenging?” Sebastian sighs. “We’re attending the event of the season, if you recall. Any number of people might stumble down this corridor, including Duke Ellington himself.”

“There is no thrill without risk,” Ciel breathes as he works open the buttons of Sebastian’s fly. “Isn’t that what you taught me, _Professor_ Michaelis?”

Sebastian sweeps Ciel into his arms, that same odd glow now radiating from his eyes to match that of his master. _Surely I must be hallucinating,_ I think, watching Sebastian suck Ciel into another ravenous kiss. _It’s simply a trick of the moonlight, that strange, rosy glow. It’s reflecting off of something red, is all. The wallpaper, perhaps._

“Quickly. Elizabeth will realize we’re both missing, soon, and there’s a matter to which I must attend before I return to the ballroom,” Sebastian says, hoisting Ciel off his feet as if the man weighed nothing and didn’t match his stature in height or breadth.

“Up against the wall,” Ciel breathes, tangling the fingers of both hands in Sebastian’s hair as he leans down to kiss him. “I’m nearly bursting at the mere thought.”

“Not _that_ quickly,” Sebastian chides. He traces his tongue over the line of Ciel’s jaw, eliciting a low moan from Lord Phantomhive. “I’m quite eager for my star pupil to demonstrate a few other lessons he’s mastered, preferably behind a closed door.”

My heart freezes, and then plunges like ice into my stomach as Sebastian turns minutely in my direction, eyes closing against the plunge of Ciel’s tongue into his mouth. _Oh God. Don’t come in here. Don’t come in here . . ._

I need to hide, but I’m afraid to move, and even if I wasn’t, I’m sure to trip over something or knock something over in the dark.

Even though my eyes are glued to the pair, in my panic I don’t actually see them move out of my line of sight. My eyes register the empty hallway in the same moment I hear the creak of hinges and the click of a lock tumbling home on the door of the room next to mine.

Adrenaline floods over my locked muscles, releasing them as my heart flutters back up into my chest. My knees buckle and I sink down into a rustling crouch of relief as I listen to the barely muffled moans of master and butler reverberate against the walls next door.

“Sebastian!” Ciel cries out, his voice wavering with both warning and plea.

“You will address me as ‘Professor Michaelis,’ or ‘Sir,’” Sebastian commands. His voice is thick and molten and so clear my head whips toward the sound, certain he’s spoken just inches away from me. “On your knees, Mister Phantomhive _._ You may rise once you’ve thoroughly apologized for your impertinence. _”_

A thin line of light in the shape of a large rectangle glows through the darkness, and I understand at once why their voices are so clear. . .the wall between the two rooms is not solid. If I were to turn on a light, I would see a mirror filling the space of that bright outline—a mirror with hidden hinges within its frame, enabling anyone with the wherewithal to open its face and look upon the neighboring room while quite hidden behind the reflection of the faux mirror on the other side.

Heat floods my nether regions. Stifling a giggle, I turn toward the two-way and silently bless Duke Ellington for his debauchery—for certainly it wasn’t paranoia which prompted him to install such an expensive and elaborate spyglass between two rooms meant to accommodate overheated ladies in various states of undress.

_NO! Don’t be an idiot, Mary Sue. Get out of this room and find Lizzie. Once you lure her back here, you can watch the grand-finale together, and then you can name your price._

A wet, slurping noise tickles my ears, followed by a long, shuddering, caramel-coated moan. “Ah . . . _Ciel . . .”_

Semi-crouched, I shuffle cautiously through the dark, my hands feeling for obstacles within my path like a blind woman. I grapple for a moment with what feels like an overstuffed wingback chair, cursing under my breath while Sebastian hisses with pleasure, but I thankfully find the rest of my way clear.

“Look at me,” Sebastian says, his voice hitching in the middle as my fingers expertly explore a thick frame within the thin rectangle of light. The catch is a small button so flush with an interior groove I slide over it twice before recognizing my prize.

With just the barest press of the button, the mirror-face unlatches with a nearly inaudible click and swings toward me, flooding the darkness with light from the room beyond. After allowing myself a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness, I step around the faux mirror and look through my secret window.


	5. Chapter 5

My jaw drops and a tingling heat blooms low in my belly.

I’ve seen plenty in my twenty-two years. Motherless since the moment of my birth, Queen Victoria pitied me and I visited Buckingham Palace often during my childhood. I received a vast and varied education while slinking through its miles of secret passageways and hidden corridors. At the age of eight, I witnessed my father dismember a mad nobleman, who’d threatened to defile Princess Beatrice, and suffocate him with his own mutilated genitalia. I’d just barely turned ten when I watched Prince Edward ejaculate upon the flinching face of one of his many mistresses while I stood unseen behind a mirror very much like this one. Although my maidenhood was intact when I married Harry, I failed to be shocked or surprised by any of my husband’s carnal appetites or perversions, which I found moderately tame in comparison to many of the countless sexual escapades on which I’d spied. Men with women, men with men, men with their favorite bird dogs . . .I’ve seen it all.

Even so, Ciel Phantomhive on his knees, wearing nothing but his stockings and garters below the waist, his long, thick cock jutting from a well-groomed nest of jet-black pubic hair like a glistening exclamation point, slick and dripping as he stretches his eager mouth around his butler’s equally engorged prick is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.

Certainly, fellatio is so commonplace, even between men, as to be mundane, but never before have I seen a man so painfully aroused while performing the act as Lord Phantomhive. His erection looks veritably tortured, silken skin stretched taut over a thick, throbbing rod, clear fluid leaking so copiously from its ever-purpling head he’s creating a shimmering puddle on the hardwood below. His trademark eye-patch gone, he stares up at his standing servant with unblemished cerulean adoration as he feeds himself Sebastian’s overripe cock with a fervent greed akin to a long-starved man set loose on a feast.

Likewise bared below the waist, Sebastian moans endearments mingled with master’s given name in a repetitious desire-soaked litany, his pleasure-glazed crimson eyes locked with Ciel’s. Knees rigid, muscles of his shapely ass taut, the butler stands nearly stock-still as his master repeatedly impales his face on his magnificent prick. The minute quiver of his firm thighs speaks of Sebastian’s herculean effort to maintain control, to stay from thrusting deep into Ciel’s throat despite the urging of Lord Phantomhive’s kneading hand against his buttock.

I wonder why Sebastian isn’t actively fucking his lord’s eager mouth like Harold does to me whenever he demands I suck his puny prick. He strokes his fingers through Ciel’s hair so gently, murmurs his name with such reverence . . .his tenderness makes me feel so strange—oddly sad and elated and envious and ashamed all at once.

Just as I realize I might actually feel something akin to _guilt_ for spying, Ciel distracts me from my shock by redoubling his efforts. With a long, low predatory growl, he clutches Sebastian’s hips with both hands and forcibly thrusts his butler’s cock deeper down his throat as he lunges forward, burying his nose deep into Sebastian’s glossy black patch of hair. I see Ciel swallow heartily and then pull back, exposing half a foot of Sebastian’s thick and tautening arousal before snapping his butler’s hips forward again and devouring his cock once more to the thick root.

A guttural cry rips from Sebastian’s throat, and those long, caressing fingers tangle into Ciel’s hair with a white-knuckled grip. He throws back his pretty head and his hips rock of their own volition as Ciel swallows him whole, over and over, faster and faster, humming his enthusiasm as if he’s fulfilling his life’s calling there on his knees sucking Sebastian’s massive cock, and judging by the state of his own ridiculously engorged arousal, I doubt there are very few things Lord Phantomhive enjoys doing more.

Sebastian suddenly snaps his head upright. His hips still and he yanks Ciel back by his hair so hard the earl falls back, his bare ass smacking against the hardwood. Legs trembling, his angry, reddened erection rhythmically pulsing with need, Sebastian looks down upon his incredulous lord. “Apology accepted,” he quips, breathlessly.

“Bastard. I had you at the brink.” Ciel breathes, somehow managing not to look completely ridiculous with his legs splayed across the floor, his throbbing cock drooling all over itself as it juts into the air. He presses his fists to the hardwood on either side of his hips and wets his already glistening and swollen lips. “I need it. Give it to me, Sebastian.” Ciel’s eyes flash the very same unnatural shade of crimson as his butler’s as they glide over Sebastian’s cock covetously.

“So greedy,” Sebastian chides. He sweeps forward so quickly he’s but a blur of movement, and after my blink of confusion I see Ciel impossibly upright, standing in the circle of Sebastian’s arms. “I’ve no intention of denying you, Lover. I simply have needs of my own.” His pale hands slip beneath the tails of Ciel’s coat and knead at the concealed mounds flesh as he brushes a kiss across his master’s swollen lips. “It feels like forever since . . .”

“Three days, six hours, twelve minutes,” Ciel murmurs against Sebastian’s mouth, and then kisses him deeply. He rocks his hips forward, sliding his slick cock over his butler’s and causing them both to moan. “Far too long.”

“If I didn’t know better, I might believe you actually want _me,_ My Lord,” Sebastian smirks, his hands working beneath the cover of Ciel’s tailcoat to elicit first a gasp and then a thick moan from the earl. “Regardless, I’m flattered you’ve kept track.”

“You know I want you,” Ciel gasps again and rocks his prick against his butler’s. “You’re the only thing I crave more than power, Sebastian. Why must you feign ignorance . . .”

“Because I love to hear you say it.” Sebastian moans. His hands still beneath Ciel’s tailcoat for a moment as he thrusts up into his master’s grip which slides down his arousal. “Because I love . . .”

“I want you, Sebastian,” Ciel croons, his voice every inch as silken as his butler’s. “I want you every minute of every hour of every day. I crave your scent, your taste, your touch, your hot, throbbing cock. And in case you were unaware, My Love, I’m begging you to fuck me with something more than your devilish fingers.”

“You haven’t yet begun to beg,” Sebastian smirks. His hands whip up to Ciel’s lapels. The electric lamplight glitters across fingernails black as onyx before they disappear into layers of thick wool, and then, with what appears to be just the barest of tugs, Ciel stands bare save for his garters and stockings and the white ruffled cravat bowed around his throat, his tailcoat and waistcoat and the starched linen shirt beneath lying halved upon the floor beside each foot.

Once more, my lungs forget how to draw air and my heart fills my windpipe. Truly, I can’t wrap my mind around the force of strength Sebastian employed to accomplish such a feat, for quality wool is nearly indestructible, not easily cut much less _torn . . ._ and from shoulders made of flesh and bone, no less! Yet, Ciel stands quite whole, without so much as a reddening friction burn marring his flawless, ivory skin.

“You know I can’t mend those,” Ciel says, sounding wholly unconcerned as he works to divest his butler of his attire in the conventional manner, although with inhuman speed. His fingernails, too, are a glossy ebony, I notice.

_They’re not human. They can’t be. Perhaps father was right when he said . . ._

“You can,” Sebastian says, his upper garments flowing off his broad, pale shoulders like water. He tosses his glasses aside and sweeps Ciel off his feet and into his arms as if intending to carry his bride over the threshold. “And you will, unless you prefer to return to the ballroom in the altogether.”

“Idiot,” Ciel encircles his arms around Sebastian’s neck and nibbles at his earlobe as his butler strides to a chaise lounge upholstered in dark red velvet. “Will you actually force me to _order_ you . . .hey! What are you . . .?”

Ciel squeaks with shock and scrambles at empty air for purchase as Sebastian unceremoniously pitches him face-first over the high back of the lounge. “Sebastian!” he gasps, the thick wood of the chaise’s decorative frame catching him hard in the diaphragm. His knees sink deep into the plush velvet cushion, displaying the full, round moon of his firm arse.

“So many lessons yet to master, Mr. Phantomhive,” Sebastian taunts. He sits down beside Ciel’s bent-over backside and runs one long finger down the cleft of his buttocks. “For now, you will demonstrate your ability to properly beg.”

“Bastard!” Ciel’s voice wavers in a clear attempt to mask his excitement with fury. “Don’t assume because I allow you certain intimacies that I won’t . . .”

The earl loses his empty threat beneath a shuddering mewl of pleasure as Sebastian spreads his buttocks and buries his face between them.

“Oh _fuck,_ Sebastian!” Ciel cries, his leanly muscled torso quivering, firm thighs widening in effort to give his butler more access as he rocks his arse against Sebastian’s face. “Fuck _yes!_ Eat me whole . . .”

A low growl thick with mingled desire and irritation rumbles from Sebastian, who is indeed feasting heartily upon his lord’s puckered arsehole, tongue plunging deep within his master while his lips suck hard at Ciel’s backdoor.

_Disgusting,_ my mind whispers weakly while a gush of slick heat soaks the crotch of my bloomers and I ache for something to rut against.

Sebastian strokes his own thick, glistening prick rapidly a few times and then rolls his fingers over its swollen head. Pulling his face back from Ciel’s open buttocks, he quickly replaces his tongue with two of those fingers, slipping them easily into his master’s widened and glistening arsehole and stunning Ciel’s whine of protest into a deep cry of pleasure.

“Don’t come unless I grant you permission, Ciel,” Sebastian warns, easing his fingers in and out of his master with an increasing, rhythmic tempo. “If you do, then our little tryst here will end, and the prize you so covet will be spent . . . _elsewhere._ ”

“No,” Ciel gasps, impaling his arse upon Sebastian’s fingers, hips rocking to the rhythm of his butler’s hand. “Sebastian, _please . . ._ ”

“Ah. Now, _that’s_ better.” Sebastian croons, and then lowers his head to run his tongue over the length of Ciel’s taint before suckling at his tight, purpled scrotum, his fingers never missing a beat while they continue to feed Ciel’s ravenous arsehole.

“Ah . . .Seb . . .Bas . . .Oh . . .” Ciel quivers all over, hips jerking out of sync as he claws frantically at his cravat and rips it from his neck with one hand, the other locked on the chaise in a white-knuckled death grip. He pants, each breath punctuated with a low whimper and his tortured cock slaps against his rippling abdomen. “Seb . . .Bastian . . . _please . . .”_

“’Please’ _what,_ Lover?” Sebastian croons. He reaches around Ciel’s bent waist, grasps his taut erection, and pumps it in time with his thrusting fingers as he nuzzles the earl’s scrotum. “I’ll give you anything you desire, My Ciel, My Darling . . . _anything._ All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

“Ah . . . _God_ . . .Sebastian, _please, please,_ I’m going to . . .” Ciel’s hips thrash wildly, thrusting into Sebastian’s hand while at the same time attempting to sit deeper upon his probing fingers. Buttocks flushed rosy, he throws back his head and releases a long, shuddering cry. “Sebastian, _PLEASE!”_

“Tell me,” Sebastian coaxes. He increases his rhythm on both Ciel’s ass and cock, causing the earl to wail.

“Fuck me! Please, Sebastian!” A shudder rolls over Ciel’s back and his buttocks tense and quiver. “I _need_ you . . .Seb, _please_ fuck me . . .I’ll do anything . . .”

“ _Anything?”_ Sebastian smirks and clamps his grip hard around the thick base of Ciel’s over-engorged shaft. “Would you give me your _soul?”_

“Yes” Ciel hisses. “If I could. I love you, Sebastian. I would . . .”

“You beg so beautifully, I very nearly believe you,” Sebastian pulls Ciel back onto his lap as he straightens upon the lounge. Grasping Ciel’s hips, he lifts his lord and positions him above his erection. Parting his thighs, he leans back against the chaise and eases Ciel down over the slickened head of his throbbing cock.

“I’m not lying,” Ciel sighs with pleasure and relief as Sebastian slowly enters him. He plants his feet firmly on the floor and braces them against Sebastian’s as he grasps the edge of the plush seat with both hands to steady his trembling body. “You feel so damned good. Fuck me hard, Sebastian. Rip me in half.”

“This is not . . .the time . . .or place for . . . _oh,”_ Sebastian moans as Ciel’s arse quickly swallows another few inches of his thick shaft. “ _Slowly,_ Lover.

Both men cry out as Ciel suddenly breaks Sebastian’s careful control and plunges himself down upon his butler’s cock to the hilt.

“Ciel,” Sebastian breathes. He arches forward, his face a flushing, contorted mask of pleasure and pain. His hands tighten around Ciel’s hips in a futile effort to stay them as the earl lifts and drops and then lifts again. “You’re going to undo me too quickly.”

“I’m . . .already . . .undone . . .” Ciel pants. He rips Sebastian’s hand from his left hip, envelops it around his bouncing prick and keens his pleasure at the contact. “Sebastian!” He wails, rocking his cock into his butler’s grip with each slap of his arse against Sebastian’s thighs. “ _Fuck . . ._ Sebastian, I . . .I’m . . .”

“Not yet,” Sebastian growls. He encircles Ciel’s tensed abdomen with one arm, pressing Ciel’s back to his chest as he thrusts up hard into the earl’s writhing arse, and then again and again and again while stroking Ciel’s weeping shaft in time with his merciless tempo, causing his lord to cry out his name with each beat and beg for release.

“Ciel!” Sebastian’s hips break rhythm as his whole body shudders. “Now . . .”

On command, a great white stream of ejaculate erupts from Ciel’s cock and splashes over the rolling muscles of his chest, followed immediately by another and yet one more as Sebastian bucks up into him, clinging to Ciel as he rides out his own orgasm.

My knees threaten to buckle, and I grip the wall for support as my body trembles from my own sudden climax. I bite back a surprised cry, my eyes glued to the undulating mass of masculine beauty on the chaise, and as I imagine how it might feel to be party to such intense, heated passion another wave of pleasure crashes through me.

The tension rolls out of their bodies in tandem, and Ciel melts against Sebastian as his butler collapses back against the lounge, still buried within his master to his diminishing hilt. “You are the very definition of sin,” Sebastian breathes, nuzzling Ciel’s throat as he encircles the earl within his arms. “Nothing has ever fueled my lust so intensely as you do, My Lord.”

Eyes closed, a pleased smile plays over Ciel’s lips. He swipes his fingers over his chest, coating them with a thick layer of his spent pleasure, and then offers them to Sebastian, who sucks them greedily and moans with gratitude.

Their moment of post-coital calm shatters as Ciel suddenly tenses and cries out, his body wracked with a series of shudders as if overcome by yet another orgasm. Indeed, his wilting cock jerks violently up into the air and erupts once more. “Sebastian!”

Chuckling, Sebastian catches the thick, white stream before it splatters against Ciel’s heaving chest and licks it from his palm wantonly. “Mmm. Does it feel as good as you taste, Lover?”

“Your essence . . .” Ciel pants, his head thrown back over Sebastian’s shoulder, both hands clutching his butler’s encircling arm, “ . . .coursing through my veins . . .binding with every part of me. . . _God,_ Sebastian . . .your _power_ . . .”

“Hmm.” Sebastian shifts upright on the chaise, bringing Ciel with him, and then pulls his arm out of the earl’s grip. He pat’s Ciel’s thigh in the dismissive manner of a parent prompting a child to rise from his lap. “You might consider putting it to good use, starting with your attire. It’s in a shocking state of disrepair.”

“Cheeky bastard,” Ciel grumbles. He reaches up to twine his fingers in his butler’s hair and turns his head to capture him in a deep, hungry kiss.

Once more, electricity crackles the air around them as their kiss grows more heated. Ciel’s arousal renews, jutting up between his parted thighs and his hips begin a slow, subtle ride upon the thickening shaft still buried within him.

“We have to return to the ball,” Sebastian murmurs, his hands trailing a slow expedition over his master’s sculpted abdomen, his hips undulating to Ciel’s slow rhythm. “We’ve already been missed.”

“Shh,” Ciel purrs against his butler’s lips. “Love me, Sebastian. Just a little while longer.”

Sebastian moans, a low, pained sound thick with desire, and then lord and servant are but an ivory blur of motion. I blink hard, and see Ciel lying on his back upon the lounge, Sebastian atop him, his legs locked around Sebastian’s waist, hands gently stroking through his butler’s hair and over his back as Sebastian rocks in and out of him slowly.

They move together with a gentle but increasing rhythm, eyes locked, hands and bodies caressing rather than claiming, and yet this tame copulation somehow captivates me even more than their vigorous and energized performance prior. Watching them, I’m filled with the strangest sense of heartache and no small amount of envy.

_I will never know how it feels to be loved like that._

I should leave now, while they’re still preoccupied with each other. I should abduct the first noble I come across and scald their eyes with this sordid scene to secure my safety, for I can no longer disregard my father’s claims as mere jealousy or paranoia. Indeed, Ciel Phantomhive and his butler both are most certainly in league with the devil. Mere men do not possess the strength and speed displayed by the earl and his manservant, nor do their eyes burn scarlet with embers of hellfire.

I should go, but I’m entranced by their lovemaking in the most literal sense. Despite my increasingly desperate demands, my eyes refuse to stray from the men and my feet feel as if they’re encased in marble.

_What sorcery is this?_

“Ciel . . .” Sebastian pleads, softly.

“I’m here. You’ll take me with you,” Ciel breathes. “Come, Sebastian.”

Sebastian thrusts into Lord Phantomhive long and hard, his taut buttocks shuddering with his release as he cries out for his master, and, true to his word, Ciel follows Sebastian over the precipice, declaring his butler his god as he falls.

Muscles trembling, Sebastian withdraws from Ciel and then collapses into the invitation of his lord’s embrace. Ciel guides his butler’s head to rest against his breast and strokes his fingers gently through Sebastian’s glossy black hair.

“I can’t allow her to have you,” Ciel murmurs. “You can’t tell me I don’t have a soul, Sebastian, because the mere idea of Paula holding you like this shreds me to my core.”

“She will never _have_ me, Darling,” Sebastian entwines his legs with Ciel’s and snuggles closer against him. “I will have to bed her, yes, just as you must your wife from time to time, but . . .”

“Tell me, Sebastian. Please. I need to hear you say it, even if it is a lie.”

Sebastian tenses, and the thick silence becomes nearly suffocating before he says, “I love you, Ciel. You’re a spoiled, incorrigible, infuriating brat, and I love you. You know I cannot lie.”

“Well.” Ciel smirks and presses a kiss to the top of Sebastian’s head. “At least you’re not bitter about it.”

“Gloating has never become you, Young Master,” Sebastian sneers. He pushes up out of Ciel’s arms and stands astride him in one fluid and quite impossible movement. “Now, get up and make yourself presentable. Lady Phantomhive is inquiring as to your whereabouts in the billiards room at this very moment.”

_He can’t possibly know such a thing!_ My mind screams as I continue my frantic, futile attempts to move away from the mirror.

Sitting up, Ciel scowls as he watches Sebastian sweep his clothing up from the floor. “How long can I expect to suffer for extracting your long overdue confession, Sebastian?”

“Until the flavor of such inane human weakness fades from my tongue, I suppose.” Sebastian flashes Ciel a smirk as he pulls on his trousers. “Fortunately, there’s a fly on the wall in desperate need of swatting. I suspect you’ll sense the return of my good humor after I’ve eliminated the pest.”

Ciel grins up at his servant, his eyes a steady, startling shade of crimson. “Are you feeling froggy, Lover?”

“Yes, frankly,” Sebastian says, fingers flying over the buttons of his shirt. “But, if you recall, I’ve warned you away from this particular fly before.”

“Cold, remorseless, possessed of hate, greed and envy so pure as to color the soul nearly black,” Ciel recites as he stands, his inhuman red eyes scouring the floor. He spies his trousers and snatches them up before turning his gaze back on Sebastian. “How would it affect you, to consume such a thing?”

Sebastian licks his lips. “I can’t ever be certain, My Lord, for the sight and smell and texture of a meal aren’t steadfast indicators of quality. Often, those meals which taste most divine wreak havoc on the body. Yet, considering the density of her darkness, I suspect I’d experience an increase of certain . . . _appetites.”_ Sebastian grins. “Along with a substantial power boost, of course.”

“Sounds like a Spanish Fly,” Ciel winks, and then frowns as he looks down at his halved shirt. “I’m agreeable should you decide to indulge, Sebastian. I’ve no use for someone incapable of loyalty, and no doubt the reapers will turn a blind eye, considering.” He drops to a crouch and pulls the halves of his shirt together, lining up the tear. “How do I do this, again?”

“You’re impossible,” Sebastian sighs. He shakes the wrinkles from his coat and puts it on. “Simply visualize the desired result and focus your concentration. The sharper your focus, the less energy you’ll expend.”

Ciel takes a deep breath, glares long and hard at the torn shirt, and then waves his black-nailed hand palm-down over the length of the tear. “Well!” He grins. “Would you look at that?”

“A perfect demonstration of a most elementary skill, My Lord,” Sebastian says blandly as he knots his tie. “Congratulate yourself while you complete your other repairs. Elizabeth grows more frustrated by the moment. If she doesn’t find you soon, she’ll summon you.”

“Killjoy,” Ciel scowls. He shrugs into his shirt. “Go swat your fly, already, will you?”

“Yes, My Lord.” Sebastian turns to the mirror and stares straight into my eyes, his smirk broadening into a malicious and predatory grin as he ties his hair back into a low ponytail. If I could breathe, no doubt I’d scream as I watch his pupils elongate within flaming irises, as his perfect white teeth sharpen into glittering fangs. “Shoo fly,” Sebastian says, pleasantly. “It wouldn’t be sporting if I didn’t give you a head start. I’ll count back from one hundred, starting now. One hundred. Ninety-nine . . .”


	6. Chapter 6

My feet unlock suddenly and send my straining body sprawling. My hip hits the hardwood and explodes with pain despite the substantial cushion of my layered skirt, and my cry is so filled with terror and desperation as to double my horror.

_I’m the fly, I’m the fly, I’m the fly . . ._

“Ninety-two . . .Come now, Mary Sue. Surely, _you_ don’t plan to simply surrender to fate. But, then again, I’d expected you to punch Harold Doyle’s ticket to Hell long ago. And where is he? Why, he’s molesting my mistress with his bloodshot eyes and foul breath in the billiards room. Ninety-one . . .”

_Get up! He’s a demon. So what! Kill him. You can kill him if you just. Get. Up!_

“Ninety . . .how terribly pathetic. Eighty-nine . . .”

I scramble upon the floor gracelessly, my knees sliding every which way behind the slippery silk of my skirt. With a yowl of frustration, I reach for the leg of the wingback chair I nearly tripped over earlier and drag myself close enough to climb painfully to my feet.

“Bravo! Well-done. Eighty-six . . .I’d run now, if I were you, Mary Sue. Eighty-five . . .”

“Sebastian? Have you seen my eye patch?”

“It’s on the table beside the lamp, Darling. Eighty-four . . .”

“Lord Phantomhive!” I yell out desperately as I stagger toward the hallway. “I believe you intended to offer me a position within your employ several years ago,” I glance over my shoulder, only to see Sebastian’s amused expression. He drops me a wink and continues to count. “My skills are innate. Sharp as ever. I’m only here because I’d hoped we might resume the conversation my father so rudely interrupted on your birthday. Do you remember?”

“Seventy-nine . . .”

“Stop counting!” I shriek. “Ciel!”

“My apologies, Lady Blackwood, but due to a current business arrangement, I’m afraid I’m no longer at liberty to resume our conversation.” Ciel’s silken voice sounds somewhat distracted, and I hear him mutter a curse beneath his breath. “You see, I’d intended to seduce you off into a vacant bedchamber after our dance, and then devour your soul. It sounds crude, but, in my defense, I was naïve, starving, and Sutcliffe had promised to stop hitting on my man for a month if I offed you. Sebastian? My shoes?”

“Utterly hopeless,” Sebastian sighs. “Beneath the wingback. Whatever would you do without me? Seventy-five . . .”

“I should never hope to find out. Mary-Sue?”

“What?” I gasp, my heart hammering in my throat. My left hip throbs excruciatingly, and my leg feels like tingling jelly.

“Seventy-four . . .”

“Out of respect for my lovely wife and her woefully poor judge of character, I’d advise you to return to the ballroom. If you surround yourself with people, you might buy yourself more time than the seventy-three seconds of life you currently have left.”

“Seventy-two . . .”

“Then, of course, I _am_ a demon,” Ciel chuckles, his humor freezing like ice against my spine. “Sebastian never betrays his word, but there’s nothing stopping _me_ from snapping your neck before you even reach the hallway.”

“Young Master! Seventy-one . . .rest assured, I will protect you from Lord Phantomhive, Mary Sue. But I _do_ suggest you run, now. Seventy . . .”

_They’re going to kill me._ The certainty destroys my last thread of false bravado and I lurch toward the doorway with my good leg, dragging my increasingly lame one behind me.

_Run. I can’t run. I can’t . . ._

I burst out into the hallway, Sebastian’s caramel-coated call of “Sixty-nine” chasing me into the moonlit corridor where I freeze with panicked indecision. Ciel’s right. I should drag myself back to the ballroom, shrieking for help as I go. I should scream my fool head off about soul-sucking demons, not because anyone will believe me, but in the hope they’ll procure a doctor who might ensconce me in the relative safety of an asylum.

_I don’t want to die . . .please . . ._

But I can’t . . .I can’t force myself to pass the door behind which I hear that damnable butler call, “Sixty-six . . .” Instead, I turn toward the French doors which lead to the terrace. Gripping the wall for support, I shuffle down the hallway, each step tortured and much too slow.

At last . . .the door handle feels like promise in my hand, and the cool night air invigorates me as I throw myself outside. A set of treacherous marble stairs leads down into the dark gardens, and I’ve never been so grateful for my height and the flat-soled shoes it forces me to wear as I am right now, gripping the handrail for dear life and hobbling down each slick step with all the grace of an elderly cripple.

“Fifty!” Sebastian jeers from the black depths of my terror.

I stumble onto the stone path that leads into the dark gardens, lurching dangerously to my weakened left now that I’ve nothing to support myself. My hip screams, shooting pain to my toes and clear up to my jaw. Surely, it’s broken—cracked, at the very least, and I so desperately need to put distance between myself and the demon who counts down to my last, after which he intends to _eat . . ._

_Calm down, Mary Sue! If you have any hope of surviving this night, you must keep a clear head!_

A plan . . .I need a plan. It won’t do to stumble off blindly into the gardens, especially when it’s vital I make every excruciating step count. I know these grounds. I’ve played here as a child on several occasions. If I remember correctly, this path meanders through one garden to the next and will lead me around the whole of the manor. Honestly . . .I’m probably less than two hundred yards from the front door!

_Lizzie,_ I think as I shuffle to the place where the stone path splits and choose the trail leading toward the front of the manor. _I have to find Lizzie. She has some sort of power over them. That devil of a butler sounded hell-bent on pleasing her. He’ll leave me alone if she demands my safety, and why wouldn’t she? Of course she will. We were very nearly sisters, after all . . ._

The night is cool, but sweat runs down my clammy skin in rivulets and my gown becomes heavier with each pain-filled step, further bogging my infuriating snail’s pace. The path leads me into a copse of small trees, and although their foliage creates a dense umbrella over the walkway, blocking out the moonlight and rendering me nearly blind, I’m grateful for the support of their narrow, smooth trunks. I pull myself from one to the next and focus my mind on my goal, allowing an image of Lizzie’s face to distract me from my agony and terror.

_Who would have thought there would ever come a day when you’d be so desperate for the company of Elizabeth Midford?_ The thought strikes me as ridiculously funny. Laughter rumbles up from my chest, harsh and hard and more than a little hysterical as I relinquish the trunk of the last small tree and stumble into a moonlit clearing decorated with clusters of rosebushes, a wide, white gazebo at its center. The path, now dotted with footlights, leads straight to and then around the fancy shelter—the inside of which is queerly black as pitch . . .so dark, I can’t see through to grounds beyond.

My laughter dies in my throat as suddenly as it began and the hair on the back of my damp neck stands on end. I freeze, the urge to scamper back into the darkness of the trees nearly overwhelming . . .and yet, I’m so close. Beneath the heady perfume of the roses, I smell faint traces of roasted meat. Music drifts thinly on the air, mingled with tinkles of laughter. I hear the roll of carriage wheels and the whinny of a horse. The front of the manor is just beyond the copse of trees standing at the far end of this clearing, and my paralyzing terror is utterly ridiculous. If I were to scream right now, someone would most certainly hear me.

_No, I don’t think they would hear you, Mary Sue. Not if_ he _doesn’t want you to be heard._

“No,” I whimper, my voice nothing more than a pathetic, futile quiver. The sound of it both terrifies and enrages me.

_I have not given up, Goddamn it! I will not simply lie down and die! I will not cower in the woods like a useless little girl. I will not!_

“Lizzie!” I bellow at the top of my lungs, lurching forward along the path, my eyes glued to the black interior of the dreaded gazebo. “Elizabeth Midford!”

“That would be ‘Lady Phantomhive,’ to you,” the demon’s silken voice streams through the darkness. “Please address My Lady properly, if you must address her at all.”

“Lizzie!” I screech. My left leg collapses. I crumble to the ground, wailing with pain and defeat as I watch Sebastian’s long form emerge from shadows. “Lizzie! Help me!”

“Now! That will be quite enough of _that_ , I’m afraid,” Sebastian says calmly as he steps out upon the walkway. He shakes his head minutely and regards me with a pitying expression. “We wouldn’t want to cause a _scene,_ now, would we?”

“You!” I screech as I futilely attempt to pull myself upright. “You stay the hell away from me! Lizzie!”

“Shh. Sweet, sweet Mary Sue. Hush now. I don’t intend to hurt you,” Sebastian croons as he strides toward me. The footlights along the stone walkway wink out as he passes them, and the opaque darkness seeps out from the inside of the gazebo, covering the gardens like a blanket of shadow. “You’re wounded, sweet lady. You must conserve your strength. Screaming will never do.”

His voice caresses my mind in the most soothing manner, and my whole body relaxes as my terror melts away. I look up into his warm, cherry-wood eyes so filled with benevolence, and feel tears of relief fill my own.

“There now. That’s my good girl.” He sweeps down upon one knee before me and smiles. “No need for tears, my sweet. All is well. Your pain will be gone very, very soon. Nothing will hurt you ever again.”

Warmth blooms in my chest and drifts through my body. I turn my face against his soft, white-gloved thumb, which caresses a tear from the bridge of my cheek. “Do you promise?” I whisper.

“You have my word, Sweet Mary Sue.” His arms sweep beneath my knees and shoulders, and I’m suddenly floating weightlessly from the ground, the pain in my hip nothing more than a dull ache as he cradles me against him like a delicate child. “I never lie.”

I lay my head against his shoulder and breathe in his warm, spicy-sweet scent. He smells so good, like fresh mulled cider, and I feel so comfortable and protected in his arms, I feel so cherished and _safe . . ._ I need fear nothing, I need want for nothing ever again because I am _his,_ and everything is so very nearly perfect, so very nearly _right . . ._ if not for that incessant little whisper in the back of my mind, that annoying little niggle of ridiculous warning . . .if only it would just _shut up_ . . .

“Your hip,” Sebastian murmurs against my temple as he carries me into the gazebo, “does it still pain you?”

“Of course not,” I answer. How could anything pain me when I’m with him? Such an odd question . . .

He stands me gently on my feet, steadying me in the circle of his arms for moment before dropping them and taking a step back to gaze upon me with appreciative eyes. “Ah. You’re so very _appetizing_ , Mary Sue. Such beautiful turbulence. Such enticing darkness.”

Heat stains my cheeks. “You flatter me.”

“Not at all,” he smiles. “Ever since our eyes met earlier this evening, you haven’t been far from my mind.”

Another bright bulb of warmth blooms within me. “I thought I’d imagined your attention . . .”

“And I was certain I sensed within you a deep desire to be the woman in my arms.” Sebastian trails the back of his white-gloved finger down the side of my cheek and sends tingles of electricity sparking all the way down to my toes. “Was I mistaken, Mary Sue?”

My face burns. I shake my head. “I would have given anything to . . .”

“Would you still?” Sometime during the my last breath he’s closed the slight distance between us, and his soft lips ghost over the tip of my nose as he asks, “Would you sell me your soul for a dance, Mary Sue?”

That annoying niggle tucks hard at the back of my mind, insists loudly that there’s somewhere I need to be very far from here, far from _him . . ._

“Mary Sue,” he breathes, and the world brightens with his eyes, which shimmer with warmth and desire.

“No,” I whisper, my arms floating up to encircle his waist. It’s a brazen move to be sure, but I tingle from head to feet with delight. “I’ll require a kiss, as well.”

He chuckles softly. “Most certainly. A kiss so long and deep it will quite steal your breath . . .but after our dance, My Sweet.”

Closing my eyes, I tighten my arms around his trim waist and nod my agreement. “Shall we make our way to the ball . . .”

“Mary Sue?” An incredulous, high-pitched voice pierces through the night and shatters my perfect world. My left hip explodes with agony and my leg buckles. Sebastian’s arms close around my waist, keeping me upright. I shriek with pain and terror, and struggle against his hold, a wave of nausea rising within me as the events of the last hour slam through my mind with vivid clarity.

_Demons!_

“Sebastian! What in the _Hell_ do you think you’re doing? Unhand Lady Doyle immediately!” Lizzie’s approaching voice ricochets like a whining bullet through my spinning head.

“Insolent, undisciplined _brat,”_ Sebastian mutters. “How many times have I warned him about sharing certain bodily fluids with humans? She should have been as deaf to your caterwauling as the rest of them. A shame.”

“Sebastian!” Lizzie bellows, much closer now. “I told you to let her go!”

“As you wish, My Lady,” Sebastian croons, and then drops me. I hit the floor with a spine-shattering thud which simultaneously steals my breath as it wracks me with pain from neck to tailbone.

“Oh my God! Mary Sue!” Lizzie cries as she bursts into the gazebo. She starts to crouch, but then thinks better of it, smoothing her hands over the skirts of her gown as she straightens and stares down at me with an expression of horror and disgust. “Oh _Sebastian . . ._ she’s a bloody and broken mess. What have you _done_ to her?”

“He . . .He’s a . . .demon,” I rasp. “Lizzie . . .please . . .”

“She acquired her injuries herself,” Sebastian says, staring down at me with a wry smile. He steps up beside Lizzie and wraps his arm around her trembling shoulders. She presses her lithe frame against him gratefully, and allows him to enfold her within his embrace.

“Her hip was shattered during a nasty fall sustained while attempting to flee a sitting room where I caught her spying on a nobleman, her mind and heart intent on blackmail,” He explains, while his thumb gently strokes Lizzie’s shoulder. “The state of her gown and skin are attributed to those thorns and branches she snagged upon in the gardens.”

“I don’t have to ask upon who she was spying, or what she witnessed,” Lizzie lifts her cheek from Sebastian’s chest, and pouts up at him. “I smell him all over you. Not that I hadn’t guessed exactly what was going on when I couldn’t find hide nor hair of either of you . . .and after I _asked_ him to _please_ refrain from engaging with you alone _. . ._ Paula is beside herself, heartbroken at your absence, Sebastian, and I . . .” She pounds a small fist against his chest and chokes out a sob.

“Oh . . . My Lady,” Sebastian murmurs. He looks down into her tear-filled eyes with the intimate attention of a lover, his expression the perfect mix of compassion, regret and concern. “Please . . .please don’t . . .”

“Lizzie!” I croak. I manage to pull myself up on one elbow “He lies . . .he’ll make you feel . . .get away from him . . .help me . . .”

“Oh, _shut up!”_ She snaps, whipping her head to glare down at me, her eyes glittering cold. “I _told_ you to stay put, didn’t I? Ciel has always told me you’re much more trouble than you’re worth and I was foolish for insisting there was _good_ in you, that you were simply lonely and misunderstood. You have no idea the _trouble_ I’ve gone through to keep him from ending you the way he did your awful father. Did you hope to repay me with heartache and humiliation?”

“Wha . . .?” I collapse onto my back, gasping.

_This isn’t happening. This_ can’t _be happening . . ._

“Well?!” Lizzie demands shrilly. “Answer me, Mary Sue!”

“My Lady,” Sebastian purrs. “If I may . . .”

“No. You. May. _Not._ ” Lizzie yells, punctuating each word with a sharp jab of her perfectly manicured finger to the center of Sebastian’s chest. “I hope you enjoyed your little tryst with _my_ husband tonight, because it was your last. Aside from upsetting me terribly, just look at the trouble you’ve caused!” She stomps her foot and waves her hand in my direction. “I’m done asking, Sebastian. I’ll have to issue an order. He’ll not be allowed to touch you without my express permission.”

A look of abject horror flashes across Sebastian’s face, but he recovers quickly with an expressionless nod. “Of course. He is your devoted servant, My Lady, as I am his, and therefore we will both humbly acquiesce to your every command. However . . .” He cups her face gently with one hand, the other stroking the small of her back as he stares intently into her eyes. “ . . .we’ve discussed this before, Elizabeth. Remember, he is so very _young_. He’s not yet fully learned to bridle his power. Please, for _your_ sake, consider all potential consequences of denying him. . . _outlets_ before you issue your order. Even when kept well sated, I know the ferocity of his lust frightens you.”

“Not so terribly much,” she says weakly, her lower lip trembling.

“You’re both such terrible liars,” Sebastian chuckles. “I think you’ll find him exceptionally gentle tonight, however.”

“Do you expect me to thank you for fornicating with my husband without me?” She pouts.

“Never. I only ask you keep my influence in mind while you’re enjoying the rarity of his most tender affections,” Sebastian croons. He brushes a kiss across the tip of her nose.

“How tender?” Her arms twine up around his neck and she presses herself flush against him as she touches her mouth to his.

In a broken heap of pain, I lie quite forgotten as Ciel’s butler gives Lady Phantomhive an intimate oral demonstration of her husband’s impending gentle kiss . . .a kiss that will apparently cause her to moan lewdly and rut her hips against his person like a bitch in heat.

Perhaps it’s my multitude of broken bits or my likely internal bleeding which numbs me, because I can’t muster the least bit of shock or surprise at the sight of perfect little Lizzie shoving her perfect little tongue down the throat of the hired demon help. I do, however, feel a rising swell of anger. How dare they _forget_ me!

“Lizzie!” I yell as another voice calls the same name in tandem. I twist my head toward the sound and see Ciel striding down the moonlit path, his eye glowing rosy through the dark.

_Uh oh! Caught!_ I think, and giggle inanely.

“I knew you were going out for dinner, Sebastian, but I didn’t expect to find you supping on my wife,” Ciel says as he strides into the gazebo. He stares down at me. “Why are you still breathing?”

“Psst!” I spit through my teeth, laughing. I feel funny. Like I had a little nip or five of Harry’s brandy. “Your butler’s diddlin’ your missus. And you. And your gardener, prob’ly. Do you have a dog?”

With a wet resounding smack, Lizzie releases her liplock on the butler and exclaims, “Ciel, Darling! I hope you’re not jealous! Sebastian was simply trying to convince me not to . . .”

“Oh, but I _am_ jealous, My Dear,” Ciel interrupts. He prods my good hip with the toe of his shoe. “Insanely. I fear I shall have to punish both of you _quite_ thoroughly. Later. Sebastian, why is this creature laughing like a mad hyena?”

“I believe she’s slipping into shock, Sir,” Sebastian regards me indifferently, his arms still wrapped around his master’s wife, who clings to him like a burr. “Her injuries are quite grievous.”

“It’s well past time to put her out of her misery then, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Ciel, no!” Lizzie cries, burying her face against Sebastian’s chest and clinging to him tighter. “Please don’t kill her, Sebastian! I know she’s terrible, but couldn’t we take her home and . . .”

“And what?” Ciel huffs. “Cage her in the cellar? She’s a noblewoman, not a stray cat. I know you’ve always harbored an asinine fondness for her despite the fact that she obviously loathes you, but even you must have some limit to your idiocy, Elizabeth!”

“Young Master,” Sebastian says lowly, shaking his head in slow warning as Lizzie chokes a muffled sob against his lapel.

Ciel rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dear One,” he says with silken sincerity, prodding my hip once more before he turns and walks over to the couple. He places a gentle palm against his wife’s back. “I beg you forgive my harsh words. I just had the most discomfiting conversation with Mr. Spears, you see, and . . .”

“There are reapers here?” Sebastian demands. Lizzie’s head pops up from his chest and she pushes from his arms to Ciel’s, her face unmarred and quite lit with excitement.

“Grelle?” She squeals, throwing her arms around Ciel.

“Yes,” Ciel nods. He locks his gaze with Sebastian’s. “Spears, Sutcliffe, _and_ Knox. It seems Lady Doyle’s particular brand of whimsy inspired an impromptu death-list half a mile long. _Again._ And _your_ name was on it, _again,_ My Dear.” He presses a kiss to Lizzie’s upturned brow. “So you’ll forgive me, I hope, for my rash of temper.”

“My name,” Lizzie whispers. She presses herself against Ciel and turns her head to glower down at me.

“What are their intentions?” Sebastian asks.

“They’ve agreed to let you have her, if you take her tonight,” Ciel strokes his hand protectively over Lizzie’s hair, and presses another kiss to the top of her head. “It seems she’s a rare wildcard amongst human souls in that she’s nearly devoid of humanity. They don’t entrust Hell to hold her.”

“They’re afraid I’ll take over!” I cheer. The gazebo spins a dizzying whirl, and I suddenly understand with absolute clarity, “You people are fucking insane! Demons, Reapers and Death-lists, oh my!”

“Her injuries are fatal, then?” Sebastian’s eyes rake over me doubtfully.

“No,” Ciel replies, “But Spears said she’s suffered him so much overtime, he’s quite inclined to turn a blind eye.”

“Ciel,” Lizzie whimpers. “Is there truly no other way? Perhaps we could . . .”

“My Lady,” Sebastian reaches out and strokes her cheek, and Lizzie turns her imploring eyes from Ciel’s face to his. “Please . . .allow My Lord to escort you back to the ballroom and do your utmost to erase this bit of unpleasantness from your mind.”

“I would enjoy nothing more than to waltz with the most beautiful woman at the ball,” Ciel agrees. “Come dance with me Lizzie. Make me the envy of every man in the room.”

“Oh, _Ciel._ ” She gushes with delight. Her eyes flash down on me for only an instant before she nods up at him enthusiastically. “Yes. Let’s!”

“Bitch!” I bellow, but my voice is little more than a rasp. “Don’t you dare leave me . . .”

Sebastian waves his hand in my direction, and although I’m still yelling, my voice carries no sound at all.

He needn’t have bothered. Clutching Ciel’s hand, Lizzie turns to Sebastian without sparing me so much as a glance. Bouncing up on her toes, she brushes a kiss to his lips. “Don’t be long. I shall tell Paula you’ll be joining us directly.”

“Of course, My Lady.” His eyes raise and lock with Ciel’s. “My Lord.”

His lord drops him a wink and then gives a gentle tug to Lizzie’s hand. “I do believe I hear the orchestra tuning up. Let’s make haste, Dear.”

“Oh! Yes. We’d best hurry!” Lizzie bolts toward the gardens, dragging Ciel behind her out of the gazebo. “Goodbye, Mary Sue!”

A volley of curses and insults erupt soundlessly from my throat as I flop onto my stomach and attempt to crawl after the retreating couple. Bright stabs of blinding pain reward me for my effort.

“My . . .you appear to be experiencing a great deal of agony, Lady Doyle.” The demon’s voice shimmers warm down my throbbing spine, dulling my pain as it flows. “My Young Master was quite right. It’s beyond time I put an end to your anguish.”

“No,” I breathe, my voice audible once more. I collapse, panting. The wooden floor of the gazebo feels blessedly cool and damp against the side of my face. “Shut up. Leave me . . .”

“Now, now. You know I’m not going to do any such thing,” Sebastian croons just above my ear. The gazebo floor falls away from my cheek, and, just as I register hands gripping my waist, I find myself upright and staring straight into his crimson eyes. “I believe I promised you a dance.”

“No . . .don’t . . .” My attempts to tear my gaze from his are as futile as my weak struggles to escape his embrace. “Don’t _toy_ with me, demon.”

“Very well. If you’re certain you desire no recompense, I’ve no objection,” Sebastian smirks. He tilts my chin up toward his lowing face.

_The kiss. He’s going to kill me with a kiss._

“Wait!” I blurt. “There is something I want . . .”

“I’m afraid we’re quite out of time,” Sebastian’s voice drips with mock regret, his words tickling like feathers against my lips.

“Harold. Make it look like he murdered me. See to it he spends the rest of his miserable existence rotting in a dank cell,” I demand in a rush. “His life for mine.”

“Done.” Sebastian smiles, his eyes brightening from crimson to flaming violet as they burn into mine. “His life for yours. And what will you demand in exchange for your _soul?_ ”

“Nothing,” I bite with all the malice welling within me. “You can take my soul and choke on it, you miserable piece of filth, for you shall never, ever _have_ it.”

Sebastian’s smile broadens, revealing two rows of sharp, glittering fangs. “I believe I will truly enjoy your slow dissolution into oblivion, Mary Sue.” He chuckles. “Such _spunk._ ”

Before I can suggest he bugger himself, his mouth closes over mine. His hot tongue plunges through my parted lips and straight down my throat, gagging me as it closes off my windpipe. I fight frantically against the assault, clawing at his chest, his face, ripping at his hair, adrenaline coursing through my blood and limbs as pain from my bruised spine and broken hip explodes continuously, blinding me with bursts of scarlet-streaked white light.

_Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t . . ._

Somewhere in the quickly approaching distance, a woman’s voice rasps, “you must save the babe.”

“Don’t listen to her,” My father’s voice commands. “Destroy that thing right now, if it will save my wife.”

I feel my lungs expand and draw blessed air, cold and harsh and stinging, and then I understand as the sound of my own first wail rings through my ears the sensation is naught but a memory.

And so it goes, one breath bleeds into another, one sensation into the next; light spills into the darkness, blurry images which slowly sharpen into sensible focus . . .my life, relived moment by moment with vivid clarity, each detaching from cell and fiber with exquisite shredding pain as he tastes and savors and loosens it from its moors with his ravenous tongue.

At long last, I see his eyes . . .elliptical pupils laughing within dancing, violet flames . . . flames which flicker and dim with each slowing thud of my heart until the dark edges of the world encroach over my vision like a narrowing tunnel, shunting me back into the nothingness from which I came.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Last Dance Before Supper (the Home Life Of Our Own Dear Queen Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4209927) by [Phoebe_Zeitgeist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoebe_Zeitgeist/pseuds/Phoebe_Zeitgeist)




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